True North
by oconnellaboo
Summary: NOW COMPLETE! They are all points on the compass, but there's only one True North for the fractured, 2036 Bishop family. Sometimes they forget... Rated T for some cussing; characters are not mine, no infringement meant. Thanks as always to Uber-Beta, Dixiegirl256! QE ROCKS.
1. Chapter 1

True North

It had been, to say the least, an eventful day. Earlier that morning, they'd finally pinpointed Walter's location within the Observers' compound, at which point Peter set about procuring a Loyalist guard uniform.

"How are you ever going to find one of those?" Astrid had innocently asked. Peter had given her a tight smile, and said nothing, knowing it was simply a matter of finding a guard his size, and taking it from him.

One dead (and carefully disposed of) Loyalist guard later, Peter was having a temporary tattoo inked on his face by his daughter's loving hand. "I want it to say, 'Fuck you, bald-headed fascist scum,' okay, hon?"

"Peter," Olivia hissed at him.

"Not four anymore, _Mom_," Etta said dryly as she started her work on her father's cheek. She patted his freshly-shaved face. "Sorry you had to shave, Dad. I know how much you love that."

"Small price to pay," Peter replied, his face darkening as he closed his eyes. "He's been there too long already," he said softly.

"Hey, you've been working day and night to find him," Etta scolded him gently. "I'm surprised you haven't collapsed by now. Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Sure," Peter replied.

"Nope," Olivia countered.

"Quisling," Peter snarked. "Sleep is highly overrated."

Etta sighed. "Tough guy," she muttered. "So, what do I get to do in this operation?"

"You'll be standing point on the south side of the building," Olivia instructed. "Astrid is on the east, and I'm north, making sure your father has egress."

"The south side?" Etta exclaimed as she put the finishing touches on Peter's tattoo. "Seriously? That's the furthest from where we've pinpointed they have Grandpa! If you think I'm gonna…"

"You're _gonna_ do as I tell you," Olivia said sternly. "Your father and I are running this op."

"Dad?" Etta appealed, using her best divide-and-conquer technique.

"Your mom's the boss on this, and she's right. I need you covering my back." Peter sat up and took the mirror from Etta's hand. "Not bad. Not bad at all."

"What's it say?" Olivia asked, walking over to her husband and daughter. "I'm still catching up."

"_Serve_. It's a big favorite among the security brigades." He stood and grabbed the uniform jacket from the back of his chair, flashing a proud smile at Etta. "You always were a good artist. Thanks, honey."

"You're welcome," Etta replied gruffly. "I still don't understand why I'm the one who's been dealing with these bozos for how many years, and suddenly I'm relegated to standing by a door."

"I know, Etta, it's just…"

Olivia interrupted Peter. "You don't need to understand. Your father, Astrid, Walter, and I know these… people, for want of a better word. You only know them as the ruling party. We know how they got here. Puts us one up. Now, if you don't like the structure of this particular cell of the Resistance, Henrietta, feel free to walk out that door and find another one more to your liking, one that would put you in charge immediately. With your impulsiveness on full display lately, I feel sorry for them already."

"Well, excuse me if I don't want to just sit around and brainstorm while those ratbags are frying my grandfather's brains, okay?" Etta yelled.

"Henrietta!" Peter barked. "That's enough."

"It sure as hell is. Heed, Obey, Serve," Etta grumbled, storming off.

Olivia started to go after her daughter, but Peter stood in her path. With a warning look, Olivia said, "Don't start, Peter. Just don't."

"What? Liv, she needs time to get used to this. You both do," Peter said calmly.

"And what about you, Superdad? How come she takes everything you say to heart, and never argues? You were out of the amber how much earlier than me? Three days? Quite the quick adjustment period, but then again, she always was her Daddy's girl." Olivia turned away from Peter and walked over to her makeshift desk at the other end of the room.

Peter took a deep breath, and buttoned his uniform coat. Astrid came up behind him and rubbed his back, feeling his muscles tense at her touch. "You okay?" she asked gently.

Peter nodded. "Yup, I'm okay," he said. "Thanks, Astrid. We ready?"

"As we'll ever be. If I wasn't so totally creeped out right now, I'd say you look very dashing in your uniform," Astrid joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm a regular Loyalist chick magnet," Peter replied. "Let's round up the dueling Dunhams, shall we? We have a mad scientist to save."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The rescue itself went as smoothly as the infiltration of an enemy stronghold, and extraction of a prisoner of war, could go. Astrid had managed to piece together comm devices from various bits Peter had scavenged from an abandoned electronics plant, allowing the team to be in constant contact.

"Hall's clear," Peter said. "I'm going in."

"Status South?" Olivia's voice broke in. Peter smiled at the sound.

"All clear south," Etta replied. "Wait… I have three hats heading inside, main hall. They look pissed."

"How can you tell?" Peter muttered sarcastically. "Time to get this show on the road."

"South, East, move in," Olivia ordered.

"No way, really?" Etta droned.

"Reel it in, Bishop," Peter snapped.

"Yes, sir," Etta said sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Just get moving," Olivia said.

Peter entered Walter's holding cell with a curt nod and an order of, "Step aside," to a much younger, very nervous guard – first hurdle cleared.

He didn't expect the biggest hurdle to be Walter himself. When Peter walked into the cell and laid eyes on the broken form of his father strapped to an interrogation chair, he had to will himself to take his next breath. Shock, anger, and terror threatened to overwhelm him in equal measure, but that small voice in the back of his mind – the one that had gotten him out of far too many impossible situations to count – snapped him back to reality. _Keep moving, straight ahead, do not stop_, it whispered. _Handle this_.

As he knelt in front of Walter, taking in the sight of the blood caking under his nose, dribbling from his ears, Peter gently unbuckled the crude leather straps around Walter's wrists. "Hey, Walter, it's okay now, let's get you outta here," he said soothingly.

As soon as Walter's hands were free, a growl escaped from his lips, and he launched himself at Peter, clawing viciously at his face and drawing blood. Nearly toppling under his father's weight, Peter clutched at Walter, saying, "Walter! Walter, it's me. It's Peter. Walter!" He held Walter's face in his hands, staring deeply into his bloodshot eyes. "I'm Peter."

"My son is dead!" Walter screamed. "My son is – "

"Right here," Peter said firmly but softly, maintaining his grip on Walter's face. "I'm right here, and we have to go."

Walter reached a shaky hand to touch the bleeding scratches on Peter's face. "Peter?"

The hairs on the back of Peter's neck stood up, and he pushed Walter back down in the chair, spinning to face the Observer behind him. He could vaguely hear gunfire in the halls outside as he countered the swift, lethal moves of his bald assailant, all the while reaching to take the Observer's gun from its holster on its belt.

More Observer footsteps sounded in the hall as the fight continued; Peter thanked his years as a bouncer in the Philippines for some of the moves he was using right now. Otherwise, he would probably be a dead man. He was almost distracted by the sight of two blond heads appearing in the hall behind the approaching Observers, firing as they ran.

Etta took down one of them as her mother shot the other. She looked into the room in time to see her father wrap his arms swiftly around his attacker's neck, snapping it with vicious efficiency. Etta looked at her father's bloody face, with its vacant, almost mechanical eyes, and shuddered. "Grab their weapons, Etta," Peter commanded as she and Olivia entered the room, Astrid following not far behind.

"What's the point?" Etta said as her father took the gun from the Observer he had just killed. "Nobody can use them."

Peter placed a hand on the crown of her head, pushed her aside gently, and fired behind her. Three Observers disintegrated before her eyes. "I can," he said simply.

"Etta, help your grandfather," Olivia said gently.

"Astrid, you good?" Peter inquired of the petite agent.

"Five by five," Astrid smiled wanly. "Are _you_?"

"I'm fine," Peter said tightly, turning to Walter. "C'mon, Walter, let's get you up again. Etta?"

Etta joined him on Walter's other side, and together they pulled the dazed, injured scientist to his feet. "You're gonna have some stories to tell now, Grandpa," Etta said lightly, beaming at her grandfather. "You beat 'em."

"We beat 'em," Walter murmured as he slowly shuffled from the cell, supported by the two people he loved most in the world.


	2. Chapter 2

"You should have stayed behind me," Olivia said to Etta as they briskly strode into the abandoned warehouse that served as their home and headquarters.

"You run too slow," Etta countered. "Those two bastards were headed straight for Dad and Grandpa, and – "

"And you know that on operations, they're Peter and Walter. Etta, we have to keep a cool head in these situations. I know it seems like a silly – "

"Silly? No, _Olivia_, it's not silly. I understand the need for distance. Believe me, if anyone understands people keeping their distance, it's me." Etta looked over at Peter as he and Astrid struggled with a staggering Walter. She had abandoned her spot at Walter's side to Astrid after Walter kept asking where "Asparagus," was. It was just as well; it gave her more time to argue with her mother. "Hope they're okay," she said, worried.

"I'm sure they are. Peter's going to check Walter out. He was fairly lucid – for Walter, I mean – so hopefully, there's no permanent damage," Olivia said crisply, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in her heart.

"Yeah, because that would be inconvenient for us, wouldn't it?" Etta said sarcastically.

"You know that's not what I meant," Olivia said, her voice rising. "Look, I don't know what you want, Etta. You don't give this kind of grief to your father."

"Oh, he's back to being my father, now? Cool."

That broke Olivia's reserve. "Why are you doing this?" she yelled. "I know you're angry about us being separated for so long… "

"Ya think?" Etta snapped.

"But when you're with your father, it's all sunshine and buttercups, while I'm the bad guy. All I have to do is look at you, and you're off!"

"Oh, poor you," Etta replied. "Maybe if you got that pole outta your ass every now and then – "

"Enough!" Peter roared, turning to face the women in his life. "Stop it, both of you. We don't have time for this. You're acting like a couple of mean girls vying for the last cheerleader position, while the whole fucking world is coming down around us. There's no time. Just… just stop." His words choking in his throat, Peter turned back around when he heard a small whimper from Walter. "I'm sorry, Walter, it's okay. We'll get you checked out, and cleaned up, and into a nice warm bed huh?"

Stunned into silence, Olivia and Etta watched as Peter and Astrid led Walter gingerly into the "living" area of the warehouse. Etta looked at her mother for a moment, then took a deep breath. "When we got Dad out of the amber, he didn't start breathing for a full minute. After everything we went through – after Simon's sacrifice – we thought we were going to lose him. But, then, he took that first breath, and opened his eyes, and he looked at me. And you know what I saw?" Olivia shook her head. "I saw my dad. He was disoriented, and he didn't recognize me at first, but he smiled at me, and I saw my dad that loved me, and would carry me on his shoulders after we all went to the ice cream parlor." Etta shuffled her feet.

"You always did that when you were nervous," Olivia said softly, gesturing at her daughter's jittery legs.

"We were on a train headed out of town when he finally _did_ recognize me – when he looked at me and _really_ knew me. It was hours later. I was so worried he wouldn't, but he finally did." Etta let out a sigh of relief exactly like she did when she saw the light of recognition in her father's eyes all those days ago. "You know what I saw then?" Another shake of the head. "Love. I saw love, and sadness and guilt. But mostly love."

Olivia nodded. "I know that look. That's a pretty intense look," she agreed. "What… what did you see when I looked at you?"

"Fear," Etta said bluntly. "When you came out of the amber, you recognized me right away. But you looked at me with such fear, and anger."

Shocked, Olivia said, "Oh, God. Etta, sweetheart, I'm so sorry. I just… it's all so much to process. I've never been… I… God, how does Peter do it?" she finally said, exasperated.

"Do what?"

"Keep on. How does he just keep going, after everything that's happened? No matter what gets thrown at us, he's always just… kept going. Gotten things done. From electronic workarounds to getting into the Machine and saving the universes, he just… gets down to it, and does it. And he's completely fine." Olivia shook her head in wonder.

"Is he?" Etta offered, shrugging. "I gotta get started taking these weapons apart, see if we can figure out why Dad can use them and we can't."

"Etta… "

"It's okay, Mom. I'm sorry. Let's just take this a little bit at a time, huh? And try and give Dad a break, will ya? He's handling this for all of us."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Astrid settled Walter onto the makeshift exam cot in the living quarters as Peter proceeded to practically tear the uniform jacket from his body. As he hastily stripped down to his white tank undershirt, and threw the jacket on the floor, Astrid looked over at him worriedly. "Sorry for the striptease," he said quickly. "Misjudged the guy's neck size by a good inch and a half. I could hardly breathe in that thing." He gave her what he thought was a reassuring smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Okay," Astrid said, unconvinced by his explanation.

"Where's Peter?" Walter mumbled, distressed. "Where's my son? I need to see my son."

"I'm right here, Walter, it's okay." Peter grabbed the medical bag to his left and hurried over to Walter's side. "Let's take a look at you, huh? Astrid, could you get a cloth so I can clean him up a bit?"

"Sure," she said with a quick touch to Peter's back. She felt the muscles in his back stiffen immediately.

Peter pulled a penlight from the kit and clicked it on. "Okay, now. Can you tell me your name?" he said calmly, slowly bringing the light up to shine in Walter's right eye.

"D-Doc- Bishop. D-Doctor Walt-ter Bishop," Walter replied haltingly.

"Good. Do you know that pretty lady over there?" He gestured with his head toward Astrid, who was wetting a cloth by the sink.

"Aslan," he replied fondly.

Peter smiled tenderly. "Close enough for rock and roll. And me? Do you know me?"

"I didn't tell them anything," Walter said hurriedly.

"It's okay, Walter. Of course you didn't," Peter replied.

"No! I didn't, I tell you! I wouldn't! They tried… they were screaming… in my head… I could hear the blood. And I waited for you… I said, my son is going to come, and he's going to kill you." He took hold of Peter's arms in a vice grip. "But you took so long… so long…"

Wincing at his father's tight grasp, as well as his words, Peter said, "I know, Walter. I'm sorry. We had trouble pinpointing the location." He took a breath to steady his fraying nerves as Astrid came over with the cloth. "You did great. You showed those bastards that you don't mess with Walter Bishop."

As Peter wiped Walter's face, checking beneath the blood for any other injuries, Walter suddenly reached out to touch Peter's face. "I hurt you," he whimpered, a finger gingerly pressing a deep scratch on Peter's cheek.

Peter flinched away. "It's fine, Walter. You didn't hurt me."

"I did," he repeated, poking the wound again.

Peter grabbed Walter's wrist. "Stop," he said firmly, softening his grip at Walter's look of alarm. "I'm fine, Walter. You didn't mean it."

"I never do," Walter said morosely. "And still…"

"Knock it off. It's a couple of scratches," Peter said dismissively.

Walter shook his head. "No, it's not," he argued. "Too much pain." He touched his son's cheek again. "Always for you."

"Walter, I'm trying to work here. Stop it." Peter reached out to take Walter's hand again; his own was shaking. He made a fist to hide it, then flexed it and picked up the cloth again, looking Walter pleadingly in the eyes. "Please. I can't do this now, okay? Just be quiet, and let me check you out. We can talk later."

Walter nodded. "It's going to scar."

"I doubt it," Peter said, back in control and continuing his ministrations.

"At least it will have company, next to your hockey scar." Walter smiled pointing at the small scar on Peter's cheek without touching it. "You were never cut out for hockey."

"I was very _good_ at hockey," Peter grumbled as he put a stethoscope in his ears to check Walter's heartbeat. "How was I supposed to know the chemicals in the ice would give me an asthma attack just as the puck was coming at me?"

Astrid chuckled; Walter looked up at her. "It's true! One big wheezing breath, the puck hit him square on the cheekbone, and down he went." He put a finger under Peter's chin and tilted his head up. "Scared his mother half to death."

Peter's eyes widened as he looked again into Walter's gaze. "What? No," he said, shaking his head. "No, no, not now, Walter."

"Wait a sec… Walter, do you remember that yourself?" Astrid asked, suddenly realizing the weight of what Walter just said.

Walter nodded. "I do, Astrid. Peter… I remember you." Tears filled Walter's eyes. "I remember all of it. Perhaps it was getting the pieces of my brain back, or the Observer trying to read me… maybe a combination of the two, but… " He reached out again to stroke his son's face.

Peter stood up abruptly, the medical equipment in his lap clattering to the floor. "Clean bill of health," he blurted out. "Astrid, could you finish up here? I have to get an Observer blood sample off that coat before it dries. Get some sleep, Walter. I'll check in on you later." He grabbed the uniform coat from the floor with shaking hands.

"Peter… " Astrid said, taking a step toward him.

He held out a hand to halt her. "No," he said, his voice breaking, and rushed from the room.


	3. Chapter 3

_I remember it…_

Peter hurried through the door, back into the work area, before Astrid or Walter could stop him.

_I remember us…_

Memories of Olivia standing in the living room of the old campus house, recalling their life together, flashed through his mind. How desperately he had wanted to hear her say the words.

_I remember everything…_

He had gotten her back – her love, her memories – but he had never gotten Walter back, not really. They had built – or, in Peter's view, rebuilt – a relationship that was nearly as strong as the one they had before, but for Peter, something was still missing. He and his father had worked so hard during those three years. They worked to understand each other, and forgive each other. Forgiveness, to Peter Bishop, was a rare and elusive thing, and to have it from his father meant the world. Now, he feared, he was merely a substitute child, a balm for the healing heart of a grieving old man, and nothing more. He could accept it – was, again, desperate for it. But in his heart of hearts, he wanted so much more. And so, Peter had longed for something, anything to jog Walter's memory of the timeline.

_I remember you… I remember all of it…_

There it was. It had happened. Of all times for it to happen, it had to be now? He heard the words he'd been longing for, and he couldn't breathe. Looking around, the walls seemed to be closing in. There was no time for this, no time for weepy, happy family reunions. Hell, he had to push aside every single instinct he had to sweep Etta – his twenty-four-year-old baby girl – into his arms, and run like hell from all of this. There was work to do, and he had to do it.

Since emerging from the amber, Peter had felt, well, _off_ – shaky, weak, and disoriented. Walter explained that when he himself had emerged, he had suffered brain damage; only Simon and Etta's re-implantation of his brain tissue had made him whole again.

Astrid's eyesight had just returned to normal following some blinding headaches and dizzy spells, and she was still embarrassed by the two or three emotional meltdowns she'd had since her release. She'd likened it to the worst case of PMS in the history of womankind. Peter had managed to break into a Loyalist pharmacy and steal some migraine meds for her, which she accepted with a grateful hug. "Twenty years on, and still the best dog robber in the world," she had said to him, kissing his cheek.

"Dog robber?" Etta had asked.

"Old military term, sweetheart," Peter grinned cheekily. "The dog robber was the guy who could get anything for anybody, any time, by any means necessary."

Etta returned an identical grin. "Kinda like when you talked the Italian ice vendor on the Common to give me the entire balloon bouquet he had tied to his cart?"

"Kinda like," Peter shrugged.

Peter Bishop had always been a dog robber, from negotiating lunch swaps in school or scalping Springsteen tickets in South Jersey, to finding just the right drill bit for an illegally-sunk well ten miles outside Abadan. He could get anything, any time, by any means necessary.

When Olivia was freed from the amber, just two days ago, Peter was reminded of the times he had pulled her from the sensory deprivation tank in Walter's lab. The first time he had held her in his arms, shaking to the point of convulsions, he had marveled by just how perfectly she fit, clinging to him, conforming to his body as though she were some kind of mystical glove whose mate he had lost, but had now found. He laughed at the romantic notion back then, but now, he recognized it as a simple truth. Olivia Dunham – Olivia Dunham-Bishop – was the other half of his misbegotten soul.

Olivia had been given the serum to stabilize her vitals immediately, and had calmed, her eyes opening and falling on her husband. Her first words to him were, "What have you done?" She thought no time had passed, that he had changed his mind about the ambering… until she laid eyes on their daughter. And then a fresh new hell had broken loose.

"Peter?" Olivia's voice shook him from his reverie, stopping him in his tracks.

"Yeah, hon? What's up?" Peter said, bouncing on his heels impatiently, his still-shaking hand flexing and un-flexing at his side. "I was just going to test some of this blood… try to isolate a DNA pattern… "

"Is Walter okay?" She took a step toward him.

He took a step back. "Yeah, yeah, he's okay, thank God." He laughed mirthlessly. "Or whoever. Hey, good news – Walter thinks he remembers our timeline. I doubt it's true, though. He read my debriefing back in the day, and he's probably confusing that with the real thing, ya know?"

"He remembers? Peter, that's wonderful!" Olivia exclaimed.

"Yeah, it's nice," he said dismissively. "Everything okay with you and Henrietta?"

"We're… a work in progress," Olivia said sadly. "Peter, we need to talk about all of this."

"Talk? What's to talk about?" The room's walls seemed to creep two feet closer to him on every side.

"Oh, I don't know, how about the fact that you and I are hiding out in an abandoned building twenty years after we last saw each other, with our twenty-four-year-old daughter?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, there's that, I guess."

"Astrid's cataloguing the side effects of ambering. She had headaches, dizziness, and eyesight problems. Etta filled her in on Walter's. I had that day's worth of auditory and visual hallucinations."

"I'm still trying to figure out if you might have been seeing the other universe again," Peter interjected.

"Possible, I suppose," Olivia acknowledged. "But there's one person who hasn't reported anything – you."

"I…" Peter scratched his head nervously. "I don't think I had any, Liv. Honestly."

"You didn't have any?" Olivia snorted. "You want me to believe that?"

"It's the truth," Peter lied, an icy tone creeping into his voice. "Doesn't matter what I want, you always believe what _you_ want anyway."

"Oh, is that right? So you're, what? Totally, one hundred percent fine, right? Of course you are. You're Mister Get It Done. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. God, Peter, what is wrong with you? We're falling apart here."

"That's right, we're falling apart here. And we don't have time for this right now, okay? When I get this DNA sequence isolated, when we get more supplies for the bombs, and when we get Etta's partner out of the amber, we'll talk, all right? We'll make popcorn and snuggle by the fire, and I'll tell you all my deepest, darkest secrets."

"Peter… baby…" Olivia bridged the distance between them, and touched his arm.

"Don't!" Peter yelled, shrinking back as though scalded. "Don't touch me. Please don't touch me… " Staggering backwards, he ran from the room, nearly knocking Etta over as he fled.

"Daddy?" Etta whispered, horrified.

"He's breaking," Walter said from the doorway to the living quarters. "We're breaking him."

"I was trying to get him to talk to me," Olivia protested.

"Yes, it was a good time for _you_ to talk now, wasn't it?" Walter said in a withering tone. Olivia flinched as though slapped. "Oh, don't look so put upon, dear," he continued. "We're all equally guilty of ignoring what was right in front of us."

Etta headed to the door to follow her father. "I have to… "

"No, Henrietta," Walter admonished her. "I'll go."

"Are you sure you're up to it?" Astrid asked, eyeing the bruised scientist carefully.

Walter patted Astrid on the shoulder. "I'm not the one to worry about now, Astrid." He turned toward Olivia and Etta. "Try not to kill each other for the next few minutes, will you?"

Walter reached down and picked up the uniform jacket Peter had dropped. A few items spilled from its left hip pocket; Walter scooped them up into his hand and stared at them.

Olivia, Astrid and Etta walked over to him, and looked down at the objects – a half-dollar coin, a battered compass, and two others. "Oh," Olivia said, reaching down and taking the wedding band from Walter's hand. "Oh."

"What's that wrapped around it?" Astrid asked, pointing to the thin, faded lavender fabric looped around the ring in an almost braid-like pattern, a small portion dangling from the ring.

"Hair ribbon," Etta said matter-of-factly. Astrid looked up at her. "Damn thing always came out, for some reason, just on the one side. Daddy always asked if it was greased or something. But he or Mom would tie it back in every time." She smiled sadly. "Sometimes, I'd just pull it out when they weren't looking so they'd have to do it. Didn't get the chance last time…"


	4. Chapter 4

_He was almost there; his long legs gave him a few extra strides on Olivia, despite her speed, and he was almost there. He reached out for her, tried to grab her arm, her leg – hell, he'd have grabbed her hair if he had to. Henrietta's small, still-chubby hand stretched toward his as she was hoisted off the ground by an Observer. "Daddy!" she shrieked. "Daddy, help!"_

_He made one last grab, his hand brushing against hers, a fistful of her hair, with its loosening ribbon, threading through his fingers like so much water. Seeing the Observer raise his gun, aiming at Peter's chest, he hoped , if he couldn't save Etta, that the bastard would at least kill him outright this time… _

"_DADDYYYYYYYY!"_

Peter jolted to awareness next to a desiccated tree outside the warehouse. Night had fallen, and Peter had no idea how he'd gotten there. Panicked, he looked around, then immediately reached into his pocket; it was empty. "No," he muttered. "No, no, no, no, no." He patted both jeans pockets, turning in furious circles. "No," he sobbed one last time, sinking to the muddy ground on his knees and rocking forward until his forehead nearly touched the earth.

"Peter," Walter's soft voice sounded behind him.

He turned abruptly, nearly toppling sideways. Righting himself, he said, "I want it back. Please give it back. I'm sorry I lost it, but please give her back. Please… " He reached a shaking hand blindly toward his father in the dark.

"Peter, it's Walter," he said, stepping out of the shadow. "See? Look. Is this what you're looking for?" He held out the ribbon-wrapped ring to his son. "It's all right, perfectly safe and sound."

"Safe and sound," Peter repeated, staggering to his feet. "Safe and sound. Give it," he said harshly, nearly lunging for Walter.

"Easy," Walter said soothingly as Peter snatched the ring from his hand. He grasped Peter's arm gently but firmly, but Peter yanked it away.

"Don't touch me!" Peter screamed, clutching the ring to his chest, his eyes wild.

"Son… why can't I touch you?"

"Because… " Peter shrugged.

"_Olivia, please… " Peter followed his wife to the door._

"_It's best if we split up on this," Olivia said, checking her weapon for the tenth time. "You take the lab. I'm checking this one out on my own."_

"_That's not a smart idea, and you know it," Peter protested._

"_If there's information there about where my child is, I'm damn well going to be the first one to see it," she said coldly._

"_Honey, please… " He reached between them to take her hand._

_She yanked it away, and used it to slap him across the face. "Don't you call me that, and don't you ever lay those hands on me again," she growled. "You let them take her. You were right there. You were so close you could touch her. And you lost her. Don't you ever touch me again." She pulled her wedding ring off her finger, threw it on the floor, and stormed out._

"I lost her," Peter said, the last words Olivia had spoken to him ringing in his ears. "It was the last thing she said, and I lost her. I lost them both. It was my fault."

"Ah," Walter said, understanding. It had been theorized by his counterpart in the other universe that your last thought before ambering stayed with you, repeating like a torturous mantra in your still-conscious mind for the duration of your captivity. If Olivia had told Peter never to touch her…

"She was angry, son. She didn't mean it. She's terribly worried about you."

Peter took a deep, shuddering breath, and staggered to his feet. "I'm fine."

"You are not. And Olivia is frightened for you. We all are."

"It's okay, I'll be okay. I just need to test that sample, and we need to go get Simon. His name _is_ Simon, right? I think Etta said it's Simon," Peter began to pace.

"Yes, son, it's Simon." Walter took a hesitant step toward Peter; he knew the signs of a complete physical and mental collapse all too well, and it pained him to seem them in his son. "Please. You need rest, Peter. Come inside; it's cold out here, and my old bones aren't what they used to be since the amber."

"Go inside. I'm okay."

"I believe the amber may be compromising your neural network," Walter said crisply, pointing toward Peter's right hand, which was clenching and flexing spasmodically at his side. "Your release was rather traumatic… "

"Etta," Peter said, trying to suppress a shiver, "Etta said you got thrown against a wall. I'd… I'd call that pretty traumatic."

"We're not talking about me. You almost literally hit the ground running. Your body hasn't had time to process the side effects. You haven't allowed it to."

"Well, s-sorry, _Doctor Bishop_, but I've been k-kinda busy." _What is up with the shivering_? Peter thought to himself. _Snap out of it._ _It's not that cold out here_.

Walter was silent for a moment, then said, "I found something else." He tossed the antique compass to Peter. "Catch."

Peter reached for the object, but fumbled it, and it fell to the floor with a clatter. "Your reflexes are slowing. The amber has compromised your neural pathways. You have to stop, son. You have to rest, or the damage may become permanent."

"It's b-been… d-d-days, Walter," he stammered. "W-we just handled a m-major operation, no… no problem."

"And beautifully, too. You saved me. As always." He stepped closer to Peter. "It's my turn, now."

Peter tried to back away, but found himself against the tree. "Please don't," he rasped, but Walter kept coming. "Please? I can't. I can't... break. Gotta keep us together." He shook his head angrily when tears began to fall. "I can't," he repeated through clenched, chattering teeth.

Walter stood inches from him, his hand hovering over Peter's hair. "Why not?"

"All the king's horses… " Peter mumbled, still shaking his head, and looking around for a means of escape. "Never put Humpty together again…"

"You won't break," Walter said softly. "And if you do, we'll hold _you_ together. We'll all hold you." He brought his hands to Peter's face. "My son," he said simply.

"Dad… " Peter sank bonelessly into his father's embrace, his breaths coming in wheezing sobs.

"I've got you, son, I've got you," Walter said, one arm holding him fast as he reached into his pocket. "It's going to be all right now." He withdrew the syringe from his pocket and swiftly injected its contents into Peter's neck. "It's all going to be all right." He motioned to the three women approaching him in the darkness as Peter slumped in his arms with a barely audible sigh. "Help me get him inside, please."


	5. Chapter 5

After they had all taken a leg or arm and carried the unconscious Peter into the safe house, Walter took charge – again – and had Peter stripped, changed, and tucked into bed in fifteen minutes flat. "If he doesn't stir in twelve hours, I'll insert a catheter," he'd said cheerfully before turning serious, leaning down, and kissing his son's clammy forehead.

"This _was_ just the amber, wasn't it Walter? He'll be okay, won't he? I mean, I've never seen him like that before," Olivia said, keeping her distance but staring at Peter's pale, inert form under the heavy blankets.

"Are you kidding me?" Etta barked as she tucked a blanket corner around her father for the fifth time.

"Etta, take it easy, honey," Astrid said gently.

"If you'd like to believe that, Olivia, by all means, go right ahead," Walter said evenly. "But I think you know it's not true. He's been holding himself together – holding us all together – by sheer force of will, and he's reached the end of his tether. If he even had a tether to begin with," the old man added, shaking his head. "We've failed him. We've all failed him. Me? I'm used to it. I've let him down all his life."

"I saw it," Astrid said in a guilt-laden voice. "I could see he was crashing, but there was so much to do, so much to catch up on." She sighed. "He found my father's grave, did I tell you? Couple of days ago, when he said we were going out to get food, we also stopped at the cemetery. He spent days looking through old files without telling me, and he found him. Just for me, because I wondered about it."

"I've been bugging him nonstop about getting Simon out," Etta said. Chuckling ruefully, she said, "Guess I'm not that different from the four-year-old he remembers, huh?"

"You were always very single-minded," Olivia said warmly.

"So, what about you, Mom? Did you notice anything, or have you been too busy being pissed off at Dad, and the universe, in that order?" Etta replied.

"I – " Olivia began. Her shoulders slumped. "I didn't notice anything. He seemed fine. Typical over-achieving, laser-focused, get-it-done Peter. You get your stubbornness from him, you know," she said, glaring at Etta.

"It's not stubbornness, it's tenacity," Etta retorted haughtily.

"He tensed up every time I touched him," Astrid said suddenly. "Like it caused him physical pain."

"No, it was psychic pain. I believe the last thought he had as he was ambered played in his mind over these twenty years, and because of that, he couldn't bear to be touched." Walter absent-mindedly touched a lock of Peter's hair, as he turned his head to glare at Olivia.

Astrid shook her head sadly, and sighed. "Oh, Peter," she said under her breath; she had been in the next room that terrible day, and had heard Olivia's words to Peter.

Olivia's eyes grew wide. "No," she said to Walter, stunned. "Oh, God, I didn't mean it. I was angry," she insisted. At Etta's confused look, she added, "I never thought that was the last thing I'd say to him! I was going to go home and apologize, but then… "

"What did you say, Mom?"

"I… I blamed him for you being taken. I told him never to touch me again," Olivia said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Olivia braced for an explosion from her daughter, but instead, Etta stood next to her and placed a hand on her arm. "Jesus, Mom… why? I remember what happened. They _shot_ him. There was no way he could help me."

"I know that, but the memory of it then… it was so fresh. All I could see in my mind was how close your dad was to reaching you, and then… " Olivia shook her head angrily. "No. It was wrong. I blamed myself for not being close enough, but I needed someone else to blame, too – because the guilt was killing me."

"I thought he was dead," Etta said matter-of-factly.

"What?"

"Dad. I thought he was dead. I saw him hit the ground, and I thought he was dead, until Nina Sharp told me later he'd survived."

"Nina told you?" Olivia asked.

"Yeah, after the big, 'goodwill gesture'" – Etta held her hands up in air-quotes – "from the Observers, Nina Sharp picked me up at the clearance center and found a place for me to live. You'd all gone missing by then, but Nina told me that you had both survived the Purge. She had no idea what had happened to you, or where you were… she said you might very well be dead anyway, but I didn't believe that. Just knowing you were both alive… I just knew that someday we'd be together again. That you'd find me."

"I thought we'd never see you again," Olivia said, trying to keep the tears at bay. "I saw in Astrid's research file that the Observers released the children taken in the park that day as a sign of good faith after the armistice."

"Armistice, my ass. Capitulation. Surrender," Etta spat.

"It was only three weeks after we were ambered. If they'd only done that sooner… maybe… "

"Yeah. Maybe," Etta said, sadly. "If wishes were fishes… "

"The sea would be full," Walter finished. "And if wishes were horses, beggars would ride." He smiled tenderly at his granddaughter as he fiddled with the compass he had found in Peter's pocket. "Come on, let's let him rest. With all of us in here, I'm surprised he can stay asleep, sedative or no."

He ushered them out of the room, linking arms with Etta as she passed.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Etta paced back and forth in the lab area of the safe house. "I should be in there," she said, looking over at the door leading to where Peter slept.

"Nonsense, dear, he's perfectly all right. Your mother is with him," Walter said, never looking up from the object in his hand.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Etta mumbled.

"Hey," Astrid said, "That's not fair, Etta. Your mother's been through a lot."

"You heard her, Aunt Astrid," Etta protested. "She flat-out blamed Dad for what happened to me. She's the reason he's in there with a full-tilt breakdown and drugged up to his eyeballs."

"Look," Astrid said calmly, "Have you ever said something to someone, and then ten minutes later, you want to crawl into a hole, you're so embarrassed?"

"Well, sure, but – "

"Wasn't it a couple of days ago, you called your father an asshole?" Walter piped up.

"You heard that?" Etta said, mortified.

Walter chuckled. "I believe Peter had just told you that you were not to go out that night due to Resistance chatter about Observer sweeps. You said you'd be careful, he said no, you said 'I'm a grown woman,' he said, 'Could have fooled me,' and you finished with, 'You're such an asshole.'"

Etta gave Astrid a put-upon look, but she just smiled. "That's what you get for putting Walter's brains back. If I recall, quite a few resistance fighters were caught up in a sweep that night, and before you went to bed, you gave your dad the biggest hug ever."

Etta nodded. "But I also said that I hate it when he's right." A small smile lit her face.

"Imagine if the last thing you had said to your father when you were four, that day in the park, was, 'I hate you,'" Walter interjected bluntly.

"Your mom said she was going to talk it out with your father later, but later just never came," Astrid explained gently.

"But… it never even occurred to her that Dad was in trouble," Etta countered, although her anger seemed to be fading.

"See this?" Walter said, holding up the compass he had been fiddling with.

"Yeah, you've been messing with that thing for hours, Grandpa," Etta said shortly.

"It's your father's. Had it since he was ten, and I tried to get him into the Boy Scouts."

"Oh, that must have gone _real_ well," Etta droned.

"It wasn't a good fit, no, but he did love this compass." He held it up. "Army issue, circa 1943. It was his grandfather's." He turned it over in his hand reverently. "It reminds me of us, really."

"Of us? How so?" Astrid asked.

"North, South, East, West. Four points. You, Astrid… me… Olivia… and Etta. We're all here, just trying to find our way, working together, sometimes at opposing ends." He touched the center of the compass. "But there's one thing that's always needed in order to navigate correctly, one thing that never changes."

Etta sat down next to Walter. "What, Grandpa?"

"True north. The one that's not on the compass. Never changes, never wavers, it is the one point that, when you find it, will always keep you on the proper course."

"Peter," Astrid said.

"Peter," Walter agreed. "He's always been the center, hasn't he? From the very beginning."

Etta shrugged. "But sometimes the center cannot hold."

"'And things fall apart.'" Walter hugged Etta to him. "You _were_ paying attention to all that poetry I was reading to you!"

"Walter! You were reading apocalyptic Yeats poems to a child?" Astrid squealed.

"It sounded pretty," Etta said innocently. "'Things fall apart, the center cannot hold, and mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.'" She rolled her eyes. "Very appropriate these days, wouldn't you say?"

"Indeed." Walter sighed, and clutched the compass in his palm. "We've all been so terribly unfair to your father, Henrietta. He's always been this way, you know. He never lets on when he's in pain, or frightened. Doesn't ask for help, because he doesn't expect it. It's up to us. We have to know, we have to pay attention, and we didn't. We need him to be our true north, as he always is."

"He can't always be strong for us, Walter. He needs to know that we can be his True North, too," Astrid offered.

"It's going to be a tough sell," Walter chuckled. "As long as I can remember, he wanted to do things himself. But, we have to try." He took Etta's hand, and placed the compass in it, curling her fingers around them gently. "What do you say, Henrietta?"

"I say… I need my dad. But more than that, I love him." She squeezed the compass in her hand. "And I can be just as stubborn as he can."

"More so," Astrid smiled. "You're half Dunham, too."


	6. Chapter 6

The last light of the day filtered through the broken blinds; Olivia squinted into the harsh slivers of sun and sighed, stretching her back against the hard chair she'd been sitting in for the last two hours.

Peter lay pale and quiet in the bed next to her, still unconscious nearly twenty hours after breaking down in Walter's arms.

_Breaking down_… that was something Olivia Dunham never thought she hear in the same sentence as Peter's name. As long as she'd known him, he had lived up to that name – he was the rock, the still center point of Olivia's life. Even in the beginning, she knew his sarcastic quips and devil-may-care attitude belied a spine of pure, forged steel. And she'd be damned if she could figure out where it came from.

In some other universe – an ironic thought, if ever there was one – Peter Bishop would be a brilliant child of privilege, scion of an intellectual titan. He would, quite possibly, be an academic himself – smug, terribly pleased with himself.

With Walter's brilliance, he could have made millions, and his son would have reaped the benefits of a life without financial burdens. Peter Bishop might have been a spoiled, arrogant son of entitlement.

Olivia didn't like the idea of that Peter Bishop.

Instead, _her_ Peter Bishop was the strong, independent son of a fragile lunatic, the caregiver for a man who broke worlds – and himself – out of grief. Although originally blackmailed into his role, Peter had settled into it with surprising patience and skill, coaxing the brilliant but damaged Walter into the land of the living once again.

The same could be said about Olivia, as well. She had never been an effusive person, but after John, she realized that she had become even more aloof, remote even. Her focus became her work, to the exclusion of any kind of emotional connection. But again, Peter Bishop – with his offhand comments, and seemingly inexhaustible patience – had chipped away at her frosty exterior, and had burrowed his way into her heart.

He was always there for her, even when she pushed him away – especially when she pushed him away. After the whole "Fauxlivia" fiasco, she wanted to hate him – not just for his inadvertent betrayal, but because of his damnable honesty with her. Couldn't he have just kept it to himself? No, he had to come clean, had to confess his guilt. So, she shut him out, only dealing with him in a professional capacity, with the occasional dose of guilt-trip for good measure. She hoped he'd leave her – everyone else did, after all.

But he stayed. He stayed, and took it, every sling and arrow she could fire at him. And when he had finally confronted her with the simple words, "And now? Who's the one stopping us now?" she realized that Peter Bishop was for keeps. He would stay. She could always count on him, and he would always be her rock.

Except for that day in the park.

Damn him and his long legs, for he had outlapped her from the start. She was just catching up to him when she saw the Observer, who had swept Etta up in one arm like a sack of potatoes, raise his gun and fire. Peter had just managed to touch their precious girl, and it was like slow motion as she watched him pull the child's hair ribbon off and fall to the ground.

"No!" Olivia had screamed, streaking past her husband's fallen form without stopping. She thought she would be able to catch up, but suddenly, the Observers and their captives – Etta included- simply vanished.

Devastated, numb, she sank to her knees, unable to cry, or scream, or do anything except stare at the empty space where her screaming child had just been. Some minutes later, she had managed to pick herself up off the ground, and turn back toward where Peter had fallen – only to find him gone as well.

"You lookin' for the tall guy in the shorts and t-shirt, ma'am?" a voice said behind her. She turned to look at the Boston PD officer who had spoken, and nodded dumbly. "Coupla my guys carried him over to that ambulance over there." He pointed into the distance.

Nodding again, Olivia could only rasp out, "Thanks." She walked slowly, as though in a fog, to the ambulance parked at the edge of the green, and saw Peter in a half-reclining position on a gurney. He appeared to be conscious, but in some pain. "Peter," she said.

"Olivia!" he exclaimed, trying to get off the gurney, but grimacing and sitting back again. "Oh, God, Liv… where did they go? I tried, I was almost there… "

"I know," she said. "I saw." She couldn't hide the anger in her voice, or in her eyes. "They seem to have teleported. Somewhere. With our baby."

"We'll find her, Liv. I… they can't have gone far. They took other kids, too. And adults as well. I was talking to a guy who – "

"Did he find _his_ child?" At Peter's silence, she said, "Then I don't care about _a guy who_. I want _my_ daughter."

"And we'll find her. I swear to you, Olivia, I will never stop searching, and we will find her and bring her home. I promise."

"You promise?" she snorted, and turned away.

Peter had kept his promise to keep searching, but in the days that followed, there were no clues to be found, and Olivia found herself retreating even further into her shell of anger and blame. She knew she was as much at fault; she hadn't gotten to Etta in time, either, but Peter was so close… so close.

But now, they were further away from each other than they had ever been. And that last day, at the lab, Olivia had snapped. Her harsh words rang in her ears still – _Don't you ever touch me again_. She had meant to go straight to him after she got back home; her mother always said, "Never leave angry, and always make the time to say you're sorry." As always, her mother was right. Little did Olivia know that there was no time to make.

And she had left without her wedding ring…

Leaning forward in her chair next to Peter's bed, Olivia unwrapped the faded ribbon from the wedding ring she had clenched in her hand, placing the ring in her palm. She hadn't felt the heft of the gleaming white gold band in twenty years, and she had missed it desperately. Turning the ring so she could see the inside, she looked at the inscription…

_She didn't know there even was an inscription until the second night of their honeymoon; she had taken the ring off to clean it after eating the sloppiest lobster roll on Cape Ann. As she carefully wiped it off at the antique desk in their room at the B&B, she noticed something on the inside. Holding it between two fingers, she held it up to the window. The lamplight outside gleamed off the simple, block lettering:_

_**I Belong With You **_

"_Peter?" she said, turning to the naked, sleepy young man in bed behind her. _

"_About time you found it," he said with mock annoyance, peering out from under the down comforter that covered him. _

_She had amply rewarded him for the surprise that night…_

Wiping the lone tear that slid down her face in the present, she slipped the ring onto her left hand, and took a deep breath. "There," she whispered. "There." She reached over to the figure in the bed, and took his hand in hers. "God, Peter, how did this happen to us?" she asked, staring down at their hands.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" an exhausted voice murmured. She looked up and saw Peter watching her intently. "Hey," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Hey." Olivia felt his hand instantly tense in hers, but she held fast to it. "How are you feeling?"

"Dunno," he said honestly. "What the hell did Walter give me?"

"I have no idea," Olivia said gently, "But you needed it."

"Yeah, well," Peter muttered noncommittally, trying to sit up in the bed. Olivia got up instantly and, grabbing some old pillows from the floor, helped him to a seated position. "Thanks," he said politely.

"You're welcome," Olivia replied. Olivia watched as Peter looked around, trying to focus on anything but her. "Peter?"

Peter scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I… Wow, I really hared out, didn't it?" he said, his cheeks flushing.

"It was a long time coming," Olivia offered. "Years, I'd say. Peter, you should have said something."

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Are you? Or are you saying that because you think I want to hear it?"

"Does it matter?" He re-arranged the blanket around himself, not looking at Olivia.

"Do you honestly think it doesn't?" Olivia stilled his leg, which had begun to fidget under the blanket, with her hand. "Do you honestly think _you_ don't matter?"

"You have me at a disadvantage, Olivia," he said. "It's not fair to psychoanalyze the naked guy in the bed." She almost winced at his carefully enunciated, almost formal, use of her full name; no more _Liv_, or _hon_.

"Stop it," Olivia snapped. "Why do you do that? God, you are such… "

"An asshole? Etta called me an asshole the other day," Peter said glumly.

A small smile crept across Olivia's face. "Oh, thank God," she said. "Our daughter and I finally agree on something." Seeing that Peter wasn't joining in the merriment, she said, "But you didn't answer my question. Do you think you don't matter to us? To me?"

"I don't know anymore," he said honestly. "I know I'm necessary. But… things weren't good between us after Etta was taken, and they couldn't have gotten much worse right before the amber. Now… " He shrugged, his voice trailing off.

"Now, what?" Olivia prompted him, rubbing his leg soothingly through the blanket.

"Now, I feel like you're still in amber, and I can't reach you." He drew his legs up under him, leaning forward. Olivia could see tears shining in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Olivia. I'm so goddamned sorry… I failed you. The two people I love most in the world, and I failed you. Again. And I don't know what to do." He swiped angrily at his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"No," Olivia protested, rising to sit on the bed with him. "No." She took his face in her hands. "No," she repeated. "You don't apologize here. _I'm_ sorry. We were both there, we both lost her. I was angry, and lost, and desperate, and for the first time since I've known you, there was nothing you could do to make it better. And I hated it. But you did not fail me. And you certainly didn't fail your daughter."

Peter finally looked in Olivia's eyes. "No?" he said in a small voice.

"No." She leaned into him, her lips brushing his with aching tenderness. "No," she whispered against his mouth.

"Oh, God, Liv," Peter gasped, wrapping his arms around her fiercely. "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you, too, and I'm so sorry," Olivia said, hugging him back with equal intensity. "I was going to tell you so that night, and then… "

Peter shook his head again, pulling away slightly, his arms still around Olivia's waist. "Nope, no more dwelling on the past. We need to make a new future. Start over."

"Do you think we can? I mean, there is the little matter of that twenty-four-year-old woman with your eyes out there."

Peter gave a watery chuckle, the light almost reaching his eyes again. "Oh, yeah. _Her_," he said. His face fell again. "I don't get it."

"What? What don't you get?" Olivia prompted him. He was silent for a moment, and she was afraid he was retreating back into his shell. "Peter?"

"Why doesn't she hate me?" he asked.

"Hate you? Why would she?"

"Why _shouldn't_ she? You did," he replied, with no hint of bitterness. To Peter, it was simple, understandable statement of fact.

Olivia was stunned. Peter had spent twenty years in amber not only blaming himself for his daughter's disappearance, but thinking that his wife hated him. "I really did a number on you, didn't I?' she said.

"Pretty much wrecked me, yeah," he replied honestly. "Guess I had it coming, though."

"You did not," Olivia said vehemently. She sighed. "Look at the two of us. How can two people who love each other so much, hurt each other so much?"

"Comes with the territory, I guess. Nobody knows the buttons to push better than the one you love most," Peter shrugged.

Olivia nodded. "When Etta was taken, I don't know what I expected from you. But sometimes… I felt like you were treating it like another case. Another fringe event to solve." At Peter's stricken expression, she held up a hand. "I know that wasn't it at all. Of course it wasn't. But I was so wrapped up in my own pain, I don't know… part of me wanted you to scream and rage and be as freaked out as I was, but on the other hand, I needed you to be just like you were – focused. Determined. My rock." She looked at him sorrowfully. "I expected you to be all things at all times. And that was impossible, and unfair."

"Damned if I did, damned if I didn't."

"Yeah. Can you forgive me?"

Peter was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. I… I just need some time to wrap my head around everything. Can you understand that?"

"Yes. I can understand that," Olivia said with a small smile.

"What about you? You love to beat yourself up. Can you forgive yourself?"

"Giving it my best shot," she replied.

"And… " Peter hesitated for another moment, then took her hand. "Can you forgive me?"

"Peter, I told you… "

"I know what you told me. I'm asking you what you're _feeling_. Can you forgive me for failing you? For failing Etta? For failing us?" At her stubborn expression, he added, "Look, what seems like yesterday happened twenty years ago. And what feels like twenty years ago, happened only yesterday to us. See what I mean? This isn't going to go away overnight. Think about it, and tell me if you can forgive me."

She paused, squeezing his hand. He didn't tense up this time, but squeezed it back. "Yeah. Yeah, I can." She laughed suddenly. "See that? Look at you, being all philosophical, and wise." She reached over and stroked his cheek with her the back of her hand. "My rock."

"More like a nerf football lately," Peter retorted. "So… do-over?"

Smiling through her tears, Olivia nodded. "Do-over." She held out her hand. "Peter Bishop? Olivia Dunham. I'm with the FBI."

Peter smiled back. "Okay…" He took her hand and shook it, but suddenly stopped when he looked at her other hand. "Liv… your ring," he said, pointing to the shining band on her left ring finger.

"Yeah. My ring. What can I say? I belong with you."


	7. Chapter 7

"Well, well! Look who's here!" Walter exclaimed as Olivia emerged from the other room, leading a woozy, but awake, Peter with a steadying arm around his waist.

"Daddy!" Etta exclaimed, running over to the couple and gently putting her arms around her father's neck.

"Hey, sweetheart," Peter said softly, hugging her and burying his face in her hair.

She kissed his cheek. "Ah, there's that stubble," she said affectionately. "You gave me such a scare. How are you feeling?"

"I'm – " Olivia gave him a look. "I'm better. Still pretty shaky, but better. Walter, what the hell did you stick me with?"

"Rohypnol," Walter said calmly as he walked over.

"What? You _roofied_ me? Jesus, Walter," Peter exclaimed.

"Roofied?" Etta asked innocently.

"Never mind," Olivia said in her best maternal tone.

Walter stopped in front of Peter. "May I? I've learned my lesson," he winked.

"Only took you four years. Or is it twenty-four? Whatever. Knock yourself out," Peter replied as Walter reached over and gently pulled Peter's eyelid up with his thumbs.

"Hm, some residual effects. You'll need to take it easy for a day or two more, no arguments. You need more rest. I'll need to check your vitals in a bit, of course."

"Of course," Peter said with a smile as Walter patted his cheek.

"Here, Dad, come sit down," Etta said, taking his hand.

Olivia smirked at Peter. "Yeah, old man, let's find you a seat." She kept her arm around Peter's waist, but let Etta lead him to a battered old sofa.

He lowered himself into it gingerly. "Comfy," he said sarcastically. "Sweetie, you _sleep_ on this? You're tougher than all of us."

"And don't you forget it," Etta grinned.

"Peter, can I get you something to eat? Are you hungry? I think we have a couple of protein bars left," Astrid said.

"Aunt Astrid, I think we may actually have an honest-to-God frozen dinner somewhere, too," Etta replied.

"I don't know, maybe we should take it easy. His stomach might not be up to – "

"Guys!" Peter interrupted. All eyes turned to him. "I'm okay. I'm not really hungry right now."

"You need to eat, son. You let yourself get into quite a state. It wasn't just the amber," Walter said firmly.

Slumping a bit in his seat, Peter nodded. "I know, Walter."

"Astrid, come sit down. Peter, we need to talk to you." Walter waved the diminutive former agent over to the sofa.

Peter looked around him nervously. "This is looking suspiciously like an intervention. Where are the reality show cameras?"

"The what?" Etta asked. Shaking her head as she took a seat next to her father, she muttered, "Swear to God, you speak a foreign language sometimes."

"Four, actually," Peter replied, leaning over and placing a quick kiss on her temple.

Olivia sat on Peter's other side. "What's up?"

"This!" Etta said enthusiastically, handing Olivia Peter's compass.

"This?" Olivia asked, confused.

"Etta, sweetheart," Peter said, "Did Grandpa give you anything to eat or drink lately?"

Etta swatted him playfully. "No, goof."

Olivia held the compass out to Peter. "It's your grandfather's old compass."

"Yeah, I carry it with me all the time. So?" He looked over at Walter.

"It fell out when I picked up the uniform jacket you tore off as though it were burning you. This was in the pocket, along with your half-dollar, Olivia's wedding ring… "

Olivia reached into her jeans pocket. "And this." She held out the ribbon.

Peter almost grabbed the ribbon from Olivia's hand, but restrained himself. "Oh," he said, trying to sound blasé.

"Mom? Can I?" Etta said, holding out her hand. Olivia offered her the ribbon, caressing her hand as she gave it to her. She laid it across her lap as she scooped strands of hair in one hand and twisted them slightly. With her other hand, she picked the ribbon back up and held it out to Peter. "Daddy, would you mind?"

Peter's breath caught in his throat. "Henrietta," he breathed as he took the ribbon from her with shaking hands. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he said, "Turn around, honey." She turned her back to him, and he wrapped the slim, faded ribbon around the shining blond hair that was so like her mother's. He tied a crude bow in the ribbon, then smoothed her hair lovingly. "All done."

She turned back to him, tears brimming in her eyes. "Thanks."

"You look quite lovely, my dear," Walter said, his own eyes moist.

"She always does," Olivia said proudly. "We did good, Bishop."

"Now," Astrid interjected, "About that compass…"

"What about it? It was my grandfather's. He used it when he was a spy during the war," Peter explained.

"Look at it," Astrid commanded. He looked at it dutifully as Olivia held it. "What do you see?"

"The points. North, South, East, West." Peter shrugged. "What?"

"Four points on the compass," Astrid said, "But only one true north. Not on the compass, but without it, we're all lost. We're all lost without you, Peter. But we let _you_ get lost along the way."

"Look, guys, really… "

"Be quiet, son," Walter said sternly. "I have always relied on you. Even when we didn't get along, when we bickered, I knew you would be here. I have tried – with limited success – to return the favor on occasion."

"Walter, you've been great. Really," Peter protested.

"You're very kind, but I know my limitations. I'm a selfish man. Always have been. And now that I'm, for want of a better word, whole, I can't say that I won't be even more so. But you are my son, and I love you, and I want you to know that as much as is possible, I will be the best father I can be." He walked over to Peter and placed his hand on the crown of Peter's head.

To Peter, it felt like a benediction. He swallowed hard. "Thanks… Dad."

Astrid sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him. "So, we're kind of a mess," she began. "And you've always been the one who breaks the tension, ya know? Funny comments, impromptu piano recitals. From now on, I want you to tell me when _you're_ stressed out. I can't play the piano, but I can sing."

"You can sing?" Olivia asked.

Peter nodded. "I heard her in the lab sometimes. And I remember one day I got home early when she was watching Etta for us, and she was singing a lullaby. It was beautiful."

"Thanks," Astrid smiled. "What I'm saying is, we all have to look out for each other, and we haven't been. You've been looking out for us, and we've been letting you. Now, I'm not saying you can't look out for us – I don't think you'd know how to stop – but you have to let it go both ways. Okay?" She leaned into Peter. "Okay?"

"Okay, okay," Peter chuckled. "You're scary when you're up in my grill, Agent Farnsworth."

"I'm serious, Peter."

Peter caressed Astrid's cheek. "I know. So am I. I promise." He turned to Etta. "But don't _you_ tell me to stop worrying about you, young lady. It's my job, and I have twenty years of fatherly angst to catch up on."

"Through no fault of your own," Etta added. She turned to Olivia. "Either of you."

"Oh, Etta," Olivia said, "Oh, baby girl." She reached across Peter to hold her hand out to her daughter, who took it instantly. "We're quite the crazy family, aren't we?"

Peter wrapped one arm around each of the beautiful blonds next to him. "My girls," he said.

"So!" Walter yelped. "In conclusion, we have all found our true north, Peter, and it is you. But you must realize that you have one as well – and that is your family. It's Olivia, and Henrietta, and Astrid… and me. Do you understand?"

"I do," Peter said, his voice catching a bit. "I understand, Walter. Gonna take me a little getting used to."

"Of course it is. You're the most bull-headed, obstinate, inflexible young man… "

"Hey, wait a minute, I thought you were supposed to be pouring your heart out about how much you love me!" Peter objected.

"We do," Olivia replied. "But love doesn't always have to be blind."


	8. Chapter 8

Walter strode through the makeshift lab at the safe house, humming loudly. "Walter," Peter said, a slight edge to his voice, "You've been humming that same tune for about three hours now. "

"Hm? Oh, have I? I didn't realize," he said half-heartedly. "How are the tests coming? Any luck with the sample yet?" He peered over Peter's shoulder.

Peter looked up from the microscope. "Should have something soon, but it's confusing."

"Confusing? How so?"

"I think the sample may be contaminated. I'm getting human hits on this," he said, gesturing to the slide. "Probably belongs to the guard I killed."

"Oh," Walter said sadly. "I didn't realize you had to kill someone. I'm sorry, Peter." He laid a hand on his son's shoulder.

"You do what ya gotta do," Peter said, although the haunted look in his eyes betrayed him. "I couldn't run the risk of him giving us up when he was found." He smiled grimly. "War is hell." Shrugging, he stood up. "I'm gonna see if there's a hair strand or something of his on the jacket to compare the sample to."

"Peter?" Walter said to the younger man's retreating back.

Peter turned. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

The sadness in Peter's eyes was instantly replaced by a warm smile. "Any time, Walter. Any time."

"True patriot love in all thy sons command… " Walter began to sing softly.

"Huh?" Peter said, stopping again in mild exasperation.

Walter sauntered up to Peter, waving his arms and singing louder. "With glowing hearts we see thee rise, the True North strong and free!" he sang, punctuating his words with resounding thumps on Peter's shoulders.

Laughing and shaking his head, Peter patted Walter's arm and turned away. "Right. I'm the only guy in the world whose father serenades him with the Canadian national anthem."

The days following Peter's collapse had passed uneventfully. Walter declared him free of any permanent neural damage from the amber, although he did have residual tremors for two or three more days. When the tremors had subsided, Peter immediately threw himself back into the work of mapping the Observers' DNA based on the blood sample from Walter's captor.

Olivia watched him carefully for any sign that he was overextending himself, and Etta always found a reason to wander over to the lab table and see what her father was up to. After a day of Olivia and Etta's tag-team caretaking, Peter signed loudly, and said, "Okay, mother hens, here's the deal. I'm okay. If I don't feel okay, I promise I'll tell you. I'm not going to fall apart sitting here at the microscope. Got it?"

"He's gotten cranky in his old age, don't you think, Mom?" Etta said jokingly.

Olivia ruffled Peter's hair. "Gotten cranky? Baby girl, he was always cranky. And is that a gray hair I'm seeing?" She ran her hand through his hair again as though searching for something. "Oh, my, I do believe it is!"

"Thank God," Etta laughed. "Seriously, you two have _got_ to age a little, okay?"

"Living with you, I think that can be arranged," Peter flung back sarcastically.

"Oh, snap," Astrid said as she passed through the room.

"Hey, you, too, Aunt Astrid," Etta called to her.

"Me? Eternally youthful," Astrid said, stopping for a moment. "As the great Lena Horne once said, black don't crack, sugar."

Etta and Astrid left Peter and Olivia alone in the lab. Resting her hands on his shoulders as she stood behind him, Olivia said, "You okay? Really?"

Peter leaned back, tilting his head back to look up at her. "Yeah, I'm really okay."

"I think Walter's right. That scratch is going to scar." She gently touched the two-inch-long scab on Peter's cheek.

"Yeah, probably. Know any good plastic surgeons? It'll ruin my matinee-idol looks."

"I don't know. I think it gives you a certain roguish charm," Olivia joked, stroking his cheek seductively. "Like a pirate."

"Arrgh," he chuckled. He turned to face her. "So, how about you? I mean, I know things are getting better between us."

"Proved that last night," Olivia grinned.

"Well, yeah, but… what about you and the kid there? You and Henrietta seem to be on a slightly more even keel, but… "

"Slightly," Olivia sighed, pulling up a chair next to him at the lab table. "God, Peter, she's so… "

"Headstrong? Stubborn? Single-minded?" Peter offered, eyebrows raised.

She smirked at him. "Well, yes, but I was going to say… amazing."

Peter's eyes softened. "Yeah, she is, isn't she?"

"And we can't take any credit for it," Olivia added sadly.

"Oh, I don't know," Peter said. "There's something to be said for genetics. I mean, besides the wildly obvious physical resemblance to you, Henrietta is so much _like_ you, it's scary. She has an incredible empathy for people, and she's fiercely protective."

"Don't I know it," Olivia replied. "She's like a lioness when it comes to her dad."

"What can I tell ya? Dads rule," Peter joked.

"I just… sometimes I wonder if she even _likes_ me, let alone loves me. You? You're her best friend, and her dad, and her hero, all rolled into one."

"You two are too much alike, sometimes," Peter laughed.

"Oh, great, I'm baring my soul here, and you're laughing."

"No, no, hon, I'm not laughing at you. It's just… Etta said the same thing to me about you this morning."

"What? She thinks I don't like her? Why would she think such a thing? She's my baby. She's everything. She's smart, and beautiful, and kind… she has your eyes, and your fearlessness and loyalty… how could she think I don't like her?"

"Maybe the same unknown, ridiculous reason _you_ think she doesn't like _you_?" Peter suggested.

Gritting her teeth, she glared at Peter. "She's right, you are an asshole."

Peter laughed. "Thought I was just a massive pain in the ass. Talk to your daughter, Mrs. Bishop."

"Speaking of Mrs. Bishop," Olivia said, grabbing Peter's left hand. "Where's Mr. Bishop's wedding ring, hmm?"

Peter's eyes clouded. "I lost it. The day Walter, Astrid and I got ambered, the Observers were doing a sweep for married humans. We heard chatter they were starting to play with eugenics. I… I left my ring at home. And then…"

"Oh," Olivia said softly, her thumb rubbing Peter's ring finger.

"We went back to the house, you know. After we got out of the amber. It's gone, Olivia. They burned it down. Our beautiful home…"

He took a deep breath and turned to the computer when it pinged at him. "Latest results from the DNA sample from the guard." He frowned at the screen. "No match."

"Did you check to see if Walter's a match? They did rough him up. Maybe he bled on the bastard, or some skin rubbed off."

"Hang on…" Peter rummaged in his cobbled-together lab kit, and unwrapped a fresh lancet. Pricking his own finger, he squeezed a drop of blood onto the slide, then inserted the slide into the analyzer.

"Peter, what are you…"

The computer pinged almost immediately. "Oh, boy," Peter said softly. "Okay. Etta!" he called. "Astrid! Walter! Come on in here, guys."

Etta was the first to arrive, holding pieces of the Observer weapon. "What's up, Dad? I was just trying to put this piece of shit back together. Damned if I can figure it out."

"Don't worry about that right now, honey," Peter replied as Astrid and Walter filed in.

"What's going on, son?" Walter said.

"This." Peter pointed at the computer screen. "I've been testing the Observer's blood that got on my uniform, and was able to isolate a DNA sequence. However, there seemed to be a second sample contaminating it. Here's where things get interesting. The second sample had DNA strands that overlapped with the Observer's."

"How is that possible? Do you think the Observers are using the guards for some kind of breeding program? Remember, we heard they were trying to create human-Observer hybrids years ago," Walter offered.

"I don't think they need to try, Walter. I found a DNA match to the second sample. It's _me_," Peter announced.

"What?" Astrid said, shocked. "How can that be?"

"I have no idea. But it explains why I can use their weapons. Olivia, remember August?"

"Sure," Olivia said, thinking of the Observer who had kidnapped a woman to save her life.

"He gave me the gun. Like he knew I'd be able to use it. Like he knew me. I never said anything about it, because it seemed ridiculous. I thought it was the last act of a dying man, and he would've given it to anybody. But this…"

Stricken, Walter placed a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Son, I want you to know right now, I had nothing to do with this. Your - Elizabeth and I did nothing out of the ordinary to have our Peter. I can't imagine that Walternate and his wife would have done anything, either."

"Thanks, Walter, I know you didn't. But, maybe this explains my illness as a kid. I mean, my DNA isn't normal."

"Wait," Etta said. "Maybe you're looking at this the wrong way. You're talking like you have Observer DNA. But they're time-travelers, Dad. Who's to say _they_ don't have _yours_?"

"What, they're my descendants? Great."

"Who knows? But think about it, Dad. This could be huge. This might be the key to beating them."

"The First Observer," Walter muttered.

"Huh?"

"You, Peter. You may very well be the First Observer. Remember, you said that we are the First People. You are the only person who could travel between the universes without Cortexiphan or the Bridge, and suffer no ill side effects. You have traveled through time. You were linked to September's mind."

"Again, wait – Daddy, you're a time traveler?" Etta asked, amazed.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Peter said. "Never really thought about it that way."

"And you mated with a woman of great power," Walter added. "Etta can mask her thoughts from them. Don't you see?"

"We can beat them… because in a way, we _are_ them." Etta grinned.

"Or, they are you," Walter corrected.

"Potato, po-tah-to," Peter said. "This is gonna be interesting."

"Interesting?" Etta exclaimed, linking arms with her mother. "I'm the child of Olivia Dunham and the First Observer! Dad, this is gonna be _epic_."

"That's what I'm afraid of, sweetheart," Peter said, taking Olivia's free hand in his. "That's _exactly_ what I'm afraid of."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-


End file.
